“I am an emissary.”

The statue appeared to be speaking, its lips and limbs moving, but that was impossible.

“I see you are confused. Please, focus on the statue.”

Something appeared to move, slithering or skittering, through the periphery of vision. It was as impossible as a moving, speaking statue, but…it was a darker impossibility. One that seemed to flout the laws of time, of space, of movement, of sanity.

“It is for your benefit. The statue, made in the image of your kind long ago, will permit me to limit the damage.”

Maddening images and shadows. Fragments of what might have been slime-glistened skin, the writhing flails of smooth ropey limbs, constellations of dead eyes.

“If you lose your mind, like so many others, our business cannot be completed.”

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